<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Undying Devotion by fraufi666</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999037">Undying Devotion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666'>fraufi666</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>British Royalty RPF, Historical RPF, Political RPF - Australian 20th-21st c.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Politics, Authority Figures, Bisexuality, Constitutional Crisis, F/M, Letters, Love Letters, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Politics, Possibly Unrequited Love, Protests, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:08:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,213</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the infamous 1975 Constitutional Crisis, Governor General Sir John Kerr is beside himself with the negative public backlash. In desperate need of comfort, he writes a series of letters to Queen Elizabeth II*. Yet through their correspondences, the Crown’s representative is in need of something more. But will the Queen reciprocate?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sir John Kerr/Queen Elizabeth II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is a historical AU. Although I have used historical figures and some references based from real events, (e.g. The 1975 Constitutional Crisis and letters of correspondence between the Queen and the Governor General) this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your Majesty,</p>
<p>How are you handling things over in Britain? I hope royal duties haven’t been too stressful for you.</p>
<p>Now I know what you’ll say: “Stop with the small talk and get on with it.” Okay, well the fact of the matter is, I am not handling things well at all. As you have been aware, I had dismissed Whitlam just the other day, and I am struggling to come to terms with my decision. I had not made it lightly, and I followed all procedure as expected. The Whitlam government made poor choices, and “Crash through or crash” was really not the best mantra for stable governance. They were constantly making new reforms, completely unaware of how tight the budget was. But I don’t want to bore you with the politics of it all. I just need someone to talk to and I know you’ve always been a good listener. The protests have not stopped and the last time I saw Gough, he barely looked me in the eye. I know I hurt the man badly, and there is nothing I can do to take it back. Do you know what it is like, when you make a decision, knowing full well it was logical, yet it eats you up on the inside because in your heart, you knew it was wrong? This is my struggle daily. Lady Kerr - Anne has been wonderful. She has stood by my side in all of this chaos, which is more than I can ask of less than a year’s marriage.</p>
<p>But as much as I acknowledge her support, I cannot ignore how I really feel. When her hands touch my shoulder as I sit in my chair, eyes closed, I imagine only your delicate gloved fingers. When I breathe in, I could almost recall that faint scent of your perfume you always wear. You smell like roses, and I’m almost transported back to the English countryside, to a time when we went horseback riding together. Do you remember that, Elizabeth? You were always a better rider than I, yet it never bothered me. I just valued being in your company, only a few steps behind you. I adored how you’d chide me for going too slowly, telling me to stop panting like a canine in the Australian summer. I know I am not the fittest, let alone the most handsome man you’ve known, but I still appreciate that you chose to spend so much time with me anyway. I long to go back there; even just to be in the same room as you. With all the protesters hounding me and driving me into isolation, I’ve never felt lonelier than I have now. I miss you terribly, and I just need to have you by my side again, even just a letter of your beautiful script to remind me that you are never far away. We are half a world away, and yet symbolically, it is the Crown that holds us together.</p>
<p>Please, no matter what happens, whether Australia ends up breaking away, that you’ll always keep me in your heart.</p>
<p>Yours truly,</p>
<p>John.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear John,</p><p>Honestly, you need to stop with the “Your Majesty” nonsense. We are old friends, so I insist you call me Liz. I already deal with so many people kowtowing to me regularly; I don’t need you to join them as well. We are on the same level, you and I.</p><p>Please do not feel badly about dismissing Whitlam. You knew it was the right decision. The reserve powers are there for a reason and to not use them would be foolish. In a job like ours, we must use logic over our emotions. Working for the Crown is not for the faint of heart, and if I were anything like you I would’ve relinquished the Crown long ago. Pragmatism is what keeps one strong, not giving in to every single emotional whim. You cannot let yourself be tortured by a decision that you thought long and hard about. Even if it <em>were</em> the wrong decision, it’s no good stewing over it now; you’re just wasting energy and time. Put that effort into making better decisions in the future, John.</p><p>Really, if you wanted me to write a letter of support to you, just ask for it: no need to write about an overly romantic and dare I say, inaccurate, account about one afternoon a long time ago. Focus on your marriage, and stop distracting me from my royal duties. Either way, you are not getting any emotional support from me. That would be wrong to expect that from me as we are both married, and you are not going to get any more resilient by expecting praise. Whatever we had, or what you thought we had will only stay in your mind. I have nothing more to say about it.</p><p>I must get back to work,<br/><br/>Liz.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Liz,</p><p>I am so sorry for wasting your time and addressing you incorrectly. I just want you to know that you have my utmost respect and you know I’d do anything for you. I know that for you it is so easy to toss aside your emotions and be rational, I wish it were as easy for me. But when you are in love, all logic vanishes. But despite your hardened words, I was so overjoyed with receiving your letter, I cried. I held the letter close to my nostrils and lo and behold, I could smell your perfume. Oh Liz, you know the way to a man’s heart. I shudder as I remember the time when we were in the ballroom, and you glanced in my direction. It felt as if everyone else in the room no longer existed and it was just the two of us, representatives of the Crown, alone in our struggle against a rapidly modernising world.</p><p>But the way you looked at me, so cold, yet so firm, it felt like you knew too how I felt. And I saw your red lips curl into a smile, my heart ached with longing, wishing my own lips could meet them. If the media were not so suffocating, I am sure we could have done more. I know with certainty that I could melt away that icy exterior of yours and make you fall for me too. I could make you very happy. Both Alison and Anne often told me I was a generous lover. But with you, I could be twice as much. Anything to satisfy your needs, Your Highness. I just want to hold you in my arms, and feel your body tremble as you melt into my embrace. As you said in you letter, we are on the same level. Nobody understands us like we understand each other. You scold me, and yet I know deep down you care and want the best for me. I <em>will </em>be the best for you, Liz. Just knowing that you are there in my life is enough motivation.</p><p>If only I lived in Britain instead of this disgusting convict island. I think if I did, I’d make sure I win against Philip and take his place. Can you imagine how powerful we’d be together, ruling the monarchy? By the way, how is your dear husband? I mean no disrespect to him, for he is almost as great as you. However, I sometimes wonder if maybe you are <em>too</em> good for him. Philip is charming, charismatic and good with the people, but he does he love you as deeply as I do? Does he listen to you as much as I do? This may please you to know, but I happily took a day off just to read your letter. Nothing is more important than you.</p><p>Liz, I love you more than words can describe. If there was a way I can shift continents and make Australia join Britain, I would. The tyranny of distance is too much for me to bear. It would be utopian to just wake up every morning with you beside me, to hold your hand as we eat breakfast together. I will even walk your corgis for you when you are too busy to do so and I will take the time to learn all of their names and their habits. I have a fierce devotion to the Crown that no republican can sway; yet my devotion to you is undying. Please tell me you don’t feel the same and I won’t bother you ever again. I just need to hear you say it.</p><p>Love always,</p><p>John.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear John,</p><p>What exactly was the point of your last letter, only to ask how my husband was? Philip is well, not that you care to know. You have never liked him. By the way, the occasion you were referring to of me looking at you was due to me turning away from the window, as the sun was so bright. So please don’t flatter yourself.</p><p>I do not care to know about your private exploits in the vicinity of your marriage, thank you. Please refrain from talking about such vulgar things with me. Your words of desperation are not going to win me over any more than your hopeless pleas for support. Speaking of which, I am surprised with how well you recovered from the tumultuous experience you endured with the dismissal. One can only hope you took my advice and focussed on other matters. But when I said to be resilient, I did not mean to skip a day of work. I am very disappointed with you.</p><p>Liz.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Liz,</p><p>Oh my dear Liz. I know I upset you, and I am so very sorry. My mind has not been sound as of late with everything I have been going through. Just the other night, I dreamt of Whitlam’s last glare at me, which seemed to bore into my very soul, and as I went outside, I was chased down by protesters who wouldn’t let me leave. They covered every exit I had known, blocked my path and practically deafened me with their cries. I wanted to escape, to go back to that English countryside, far away from these scoundrels. When I woke up, I was relieved, yet my relief did not last for long, as the woman who slept soundly beside me was not you. I think if you were in her place, I’d place a kiss on your shoulder, ever so gently and whisper sweet nothings in your ear so you’d never have any nightmares. I’d gladly take nightmares for the rest of my sleeping life just so you can sleep well, Your Highness.</p><p>The one thing that gets me through each day is that portrait I have of you in my office. Whenever I am stressed, I gaze up into your calm, solemn eyes. You, so regel in your crown and jewels, so remote and removed from all this stress, yet you are also part of the vital system that I work for and serve. The monarchy is the artery that flows with the blue blood of empire that has never died and will never die. Just like my love for you. I have some hope that there are monarchists out there that understand our struggles, people who value things as they should be, rather than trying to snatch away a position from you that is rightfully yours.</p><p>Since you never answered my question, I can only be certain that this only means one thing: You <em>do</em> feel the same. The ice-cold heart still beats, and it is I that have made it so. Liz, you have no idea how much your silences mean to me. Even if you don’t say much at all, or give me the words I am aching to hear, I know that it means that you care. I care about you too, Liz. I always have and I always will. If ever you are feeling gloomy, remember me, or at least my words. I’m sorry I do not cut a fine figure in a suit and have no flattering pictures to send you. Keep this letter and open it up on a rainy day. Think of my smile as I bowed to you that time when you visited my sorry excuse for a country. I still remember that day as if it were yesterday. I was so nervous, I felt like a schoolboy about to be given the strap by the headmaster. But your calm and demure nature soothed my savage breast as I realised that with you around, everything was going to be all right.</p><p>Yours always,</p><p>John.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear John,</p><p>Spare the theatrics. Your last letter made absolutely no sense and I could smell the gin you spilt on it. Are you on the drink again? I’ve had to waste my time reading this drivel. If you have nothing important to inform me of your duties as Governor General, then stop writing to me.</p><p>I command you to pull yourself together,</p><p>Liz.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Liz,</p>
<p>You command me? Ha! What a laugh. The whole point of my last letter was to tell you that I do everything you ask. I am your loyal terrier and I will always be at your disposal.</p>
<p>I ashamedly admit that I did go back on the gin, but only because I am so hurt that you keep rebuffing my advances. Where did we go wrong, Liz? I love you so much, you know I’d do anything for you, but it seems that no matter what I do I always get everything wrong. I know I am clumsy and foolish at times, but my love for you knows no bounds. If I am a flawed man, my love for you is the only thing about myself without blemish.</p>
<p>When you first advised me to dismiss Whitlam, I did exactly as you had asked. Secretly, I never would have used those reserve powers. You could call me cowardly for this: But I did not want to rock the boat. I was perfectly happy cutting ceremonial ribbons instead of making this controversial decision. At the same time, I saw how much the Whitlam government was destroying everything in its path. It was no secret how much Gough wanted an Australian republic and he unashamedly called himself a republican on a number of occasions. I know how much the republican-fuelled press treat you and I wanted to protect you from this. I took the fall for you, my love. Don’t you see? I destroyed my own reputation so you could remain on the throne. Isn’t it Shakespearian, how much I willingly sacrifice myself to save you? In a way, we are almost like star-crossed lovers, the Montagues and Capulets of the world trying to keep us apart. But nothing can take away what we have. I would fall on my sword over and over again to keep you safe on the throne, my sweet Queen.</p>
<p>The other day when I was watching the news, I saw Gough say with bitterness in his voice “Well we may say ‘God save the Queen’, because nothing will save the Governor General”. At first I was shocked at how he called my bluff, but then as I looked at your portrait I remembered that I was the one that had something that he didn’t: Your love. Your love saved me, Liz. We are two lovers, separated by the seas and in another life we might have been married. That is why Gough’s words no longer shake my resolve. He is a lost cause now, with no place of importance. But not us, we have the Crown.</p>
<p>I get so frustrated, my fists clench as I write this letter. I smashed one of the gin bottles in despair because you responded to me so coldly. Why, Liz, why can’t you just let down that wall? I give you all my vulnerabilities and my deepest, darkest secrets and you only give me silences. Sometimes I stare at the blank spaces around the page, reading into them, hoping to see whatever it is that you secretly want to tell me. I drive myself mad looking at these white spaces. Oh, I am so lost. I need your support and your reassurance and you won’t give it to me. But I understand. You want me to earn it. I vow to do better.</p>
<p>Yours,</p>
<p>John.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear John,</p>
<p>I did not force you to dismiss Whitlam. I merely gave you advice. If you did not want my advice, you never should have asked for it. You should know by now that I never mince words.</p>
<p>For the good of the Commonwealth, stop your carrying on. Drinking excessively seldom solves problems.</p>
<p>I am very busy. You should be too, now that you have a new Prime Minister to worry about.</p>
<p>Liz.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Liz,</p>
<p>Yes, I must tell you about Mr Fraser. For a while I was regretful of my decision, but I must confess he looked very dashing during the swearing-in ceremony. Seeing him in that tailored suit, I realised that I did in fact make the right decision. For that, I must thank you, Liz. You have always been the lighthouse guiding me safely to shore from these stormy waters of politics.</p>
<p>Mr Fraser is a very good-looking man, much better than that pudgy Mr Whitlam. Am I being harsh? Perhaps. I probably should not put down Gough. There was a time when he was my world too. It was a shame that things could not work out with him and I, but I understood that no good could ever come out of an alliance with a republican. One evening when we were having brandy in his office, Gough and I sitting on the chairs closely together, our thighs rubbing against one another, I must have read the signals wrong. He told me there was something in my hair and I thought it was a sign. He leaned in close, and I dived straight in, only to be knocked back. I did not know what to do, but run. I locked myself into the cubicle, mourning my efforts. I sometimes wonder if this was the embarrassing situation that pushed me to despise him, and to be more inclined to dismiss him from office. But perhaps it was inevitable. A Whitlam government was a disaster waiting to happen.</p>
<p>When trying to regain my composure, I did see in the bathroom mirror there was a leaf in my hair that he was trying to remove. Oh, I have never felt so ashamed! Not even my wife knows about this, dear Liz. You are the only person I can trust in the whole world. I find it very difficult to love women, to tell you the truth, but you are the exception.</p>
<p>I loved someone else too, a long time ago. Mr McClelland, if you remember, from Cabinet. But alas, James did not reciprocate my feelings, not once. He was a liar. A lot of politicians are. This is probably why I trust you so strongly, because I know you would never treat me the way he and Gough had.</p>
<p>I miss you so much.</p>
<p>Love always,</p>
<p>John.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear John,</p>
<p>Do not let your feelings for Mr Fraser get in the way. I do not trust the look of that man. The other day, when I met him he refused to bow and instead wanted to shake hands. This is a sign of a republican, for they refuse to follow through with royal tradition. He also expressed in a televised interview how an Australian Republic is the way forward.</p>
<p>Mr Fraser may be more economically sensible than Mr Whitlam, but I implore you to be cautious.</p>
<p>Also I do not care to know what you and Mr Whitlam or Mr McClelland got up to in your spare time. It is none of my business. <br/><br/>Duty calls,</p>
<p>Liz.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Liz,</p><p>Do I sense a bit of jealousy from my dear Queen? It’s funny how I gave you all my attention and you refuse my advances, yet the minute I speak of Mr Fraser you warn me about him? Liz, what is it you want from me? I have bled myself dry trying to please you, yet nothing is ever good enough. But do not fret, for I am no longer going to bother trying to chase after you for your affections. Malcolm has been giving me all of the kindness and reassurance that you have denied me.</p><p>Just the other day, when I was in Parliament House, I bumped into him. He gave me a smile and asked if I would like to have a drink with him sometime. I was speechless. Here was a dashing, tall politician asking a frumpy old coot like me if I wanted to spend some time with him. My cheeks burned as I shyly looked away from his piercing gaze. “Yes please, Prime Minister” I said hesitantly, although it sounded more like a squeak. He smiled kindly, placing a hand on my arm, the bright light reflecting off the cufflinks causing me to squint. Oh, I was awestruck. This man, the Prime Minister of Australia, wanted to spend time with <em>me</em>. I felt so much warmth in my very being when his manly hand touched my shaking arm. For a moment, my eyes drifted to the slightly rippled pinstripes and wondered what his bare arm looked like under that suit of his. The tailored suit seemed to draw emphasis towards his handsome broad shoulders and his tall, aristocratic physique. I think I was still staring at him well after he had walked away, I did not even get to find out details on where we were meeting! Curse that man!</p><p>Now I know what you’re thinking. But I don’t care what his politics are. Whether he is republican or not does not faze me, because he seems to genuinely care for me. I long to rest my head against one of those broad shoulders, but only if he will let me: I’ve been hurt one too many times.</p><p>Liz, I still love you deeply, but I shan’t listen to you anymore. Mr Fraser genuinely respects me, and I him. Please let me be happy. It’s what I always will want for you, too.</p><p>Yours truly,</p><p>John.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear John,</p>
<p>Get a hold of yourself. I am not jealous in the slightest, and if anything I am glad to not have to deal with you so much. You are becoming very tiresome. Whatever you and Mr Fraser get up to in your private life is none of my business, yet I do not think your senseless idolatry for this man will end well. Mr Fraser is a traitor, and I am starting to believe that he might be even worse than Mr Whitlam. Mr Whitlam was irresponsible, but Mr Fraser is cunning and his hunger for power knows no bounds.</p>
<p>As a friend, I want you to be careful. But what you choose to do with this information is entirely up to you.</p>
<p>Stay safe,</p>
<p>Liz.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Liz,<br/><br/>Forgive me for not getting back to you sooner. I have been caught up with some issues. Just the other week, I accompanied Mr Fraser to his trip to Memphis. It was to make up for the time I missed our evening for drinks, as I was too distracted. Unfortunately, we could not share a hotel room; Mr Fraser asserted that he needed his own space. As a gentleman, I respected his decision and decided to stay out of his way. I decided to have an early night.</p><p>As my eyes grew heavy, I heard a knock on my door. Confused, I went over to answer it, as I didn’t recall asking for room service. But whom do I find standing in the doorway? The tall silhouette of Mr Fraser.</p><p>“P-Prime Minister?” I asked with hesitation, “What can I do for you?”</p><p>“Please, call me Malcolm.” The handsome politician responded as he slammed the door shut behind him and edged towards me. I was sure I could feel one of his fingers trace beneath my chin. “We need to make up for lost time, you and I. You never got back to me about having drinks, I was starting to think you had given up on us.”</p><p>I was shocked. How did I let him down this much? I apologised quickly, explaining that I was too overwhelmed by his presence that I did not mean to forget about our meeting. He seemed content by this and went over to the phone. At first, I did not feel comfortable with him using it, as I knew the bill would be charged to me, but it <em>was</em> Mr Fraser using it. Whatever he needed from me, I was glad to pay for it.<br/><br/>“Room service? Please send a bottle of your most expensive port. Thank you.” This was going to be a very expensive hotel service.</p><p>A nosy concierge answered the door and I took the bottle from him and slammed the door in his face before he could make out who was in my room. I took out two wine glasses and poured a drink for each of us. Mr Fraser took one of the glasses with a smile and patted the space on the couch beside him. Like an obedient terrier, I took my place and clinked my glass with him.</p><p>I don’t really remember much of what happened next. It was all a bit of a blur, but I knew that whatever happened was truly magical. Mr Fraser was such an experienced lover and had so much energy, I felt like a virgin in comparison. Oh, it was such a wonderful experience, Liz. But at the same time, I felt guilty for thinking of you as he kissed my neck and I wished it were you with me instead.</p><p>“Wait,” I whispered, “I need you to say one thing to me.” I begged.</p><p>“Tell me,” murmured Mr Fraser.</p><p>“Order me to do this for the monarchy.”</p><p>Baffled, Mr Fraser withdrew from my grasp. It dawned on me that in the heat of the moment I had forgotten that he was a republican. He muttered about needing to get back to his hotel room and rose to his feet. I tried to explain, but he refused to listen to me. He walked out of the room so quickly; he had forgotten his trousers in the process. Oh what a disaster! I spent over five minutes searching for his trousers, until I noticed they were tucked in between the mattresses, perhaps for safekeeping. I retrieved them from the spot and started to chase after him but managed to stop myself. There were so many people walking about, I did not want anyone to know about what really happened between us. If any witnesses knew, our respective reputations on the international sphere would be ruined. Australia would be a laughing stock. Sheepishly, I retreated back to my room.</p><p>The next day I learnt that Mr Fraser had come to the hotel reception in nothing but a towel, explaining that he had been robbed.* Robbed! I did not know whether to laugh or cry, for it was he who robbed something of mine: my heart and my dignity!</p><p>Only you can know about this, Liz. If anyone else finds out the truth of where Mr Fraser’s trousers got to, I would surely lose my job.<br/><br/>I still love you. Will you forgive me for falling for Mr Fraser’s charms?</p><p>John.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear John,</p>
<p>I did not care to know what you were getting up to in your hotel room with Mr Fraser. These were details that my imagination could deal without. Do you realise that with the positive press coverage he has been getting, Mr Fraser’s reputation has improved thanks to the missing trousers? People are now seeing him as human, instead of the swine he really is. You are a fool. I warned you to be wary of him, not give him extra credit from the public.</p>
<p>You have disappointed me more than words can say, John. Even if I<em> did </em>feel something for you, I could never forgive you for what you have done to help that traitor. Do not expect any more letters of consolation from me. You are on your own.</p>
<p>Liz.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Liz,</p><p>Love of my life, will you ever, ever forgive me for being so careless. Please, Liz I need you back. I haven’t received another letter from you for months and I am driving myself sick with worry. I am so sorry for letting Fraser get his way. Please understand it was never my intention. I need you in my life. Your beautiful script is what keeps me sane. Please, please Liz. Don’t give up on me now. I love you too much. I would do anything for you; you know that, don’t you? I would gladly throw myself under a bus if it keeps you happy. Please tell me what you want, dear. I would do anything you ask.</p><p>Your loyal terrier,</p><p>John.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Liz,</p><p>I am weeping and nothing except for your singular response will console me from this never-ending sadness. I was so wrong about Mr Fraser, and now I need you back. My life feels so empty without you and even seeing Mr Fraser in his tailored suit does nothing to relieve me from my distress. Only recently I had just discovered he has joined the republican movement, just like Gough did. I feel absolutely played by this man. Malcolm used me, and he was trying to hurt you too and I did not even see it because I was so blind by love. No, it was not even love, but lust. I was foolish, my sweet Queen.</p><p>Since you will no longer speak to me again, I cannot bear to be Governor General any longer. I only kept this position because it was the only way to remain close to you. I wanted to leave so many times because the protesters would not leave me in peace, but now I realise the true love of this job is no longer within my grasp. I am no longer strong enough for this duty, Liz. I am so very sorry I could not be the man you wanted. Please, take this letter as my official resignation from the position. I hope the next person for this job will do much better than me, for I continue to make mistakes. Do you realise I still have not forgiven myself for what I put poor Gough through? Everything is a mess.</p><p>Your Highness, I am so sorry. You deserve so much better than me. Even if you never respond to my letter, I will feel relieved to know that it did get to you safely. I also know that if I die a lonely man, I will at least be able to carry to the grave my love for you, which will never, ever die, just like the Crown.</p><p>Love to you and the monarchy. I hope you reign forever,</p><p>John.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Footnotes for historical explanations: </p><p>Letters of correspondence between the Queen and the Governor General: This fic is loosely based off the secret letters that are soon to be released between the Governor General and the Queen prior to the Whitlam Dismissal. There are some slight differences however; for a start, these letters take place after the Whitlam Dismissal, rather than before. You can read all about the real letters in the link below. </p><p>https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2020/may/29/palace-letters-high-court-rules-queen-secret-correspondence-whitlam-dismissal-are-commonwealth-records</p><p>“Mr Fraser had come to the hotel reception in nothing but a towel, explaining that he had been robbed.”: This was also loosely based on a true event where the former Prime Minister had been complaining to the hotel that his pants, Rolex and wallet were stolen. Malcolm Fraser could not recall the event at all, wishing he had “Never been to bloody Memphis”. Don’t believe me? See for yourself in the link below!</p><p>https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/nsw/malcolm-fraser-and-the-mystery-of-how-he-lost-his-trousers-and-his-dignity-in-a-seedy-american-hotel/news-story/c122c798f7927fb6f994d2687e717461</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>